Down Memory Lane

The city of my youth

4031 Page Court, Pleasanton, CA.

We lived there, ages ago.

It was a cul de sac, and our neighbors were Bob, and his wife whose name I’ve forgotten except that it began with an M (I think). No wait, her name was Fran. Whatever, I was close. They were ancient, and when Bob died my mother woke us up at 6 a.m to tell us he was gone. Ever since then I’ve been terrified of being woken early, and late night phone calls. They never mean well.

Our librarian lived in our neighborhood. She had the tiniest, bitchiest dog possible. It would attack anything that moved, regardless that it could easily be squished by a pencil sharpener. It’s attitude would have been inspiring had it not meant we stayed in when our librarian was out. Of course, I never went out much anyway. That would require getting up from the couch. Yuck.

The school we went to was walking distance. We passed the local supermarket, Lucky’s, then my best friend Marcella’s house and then Justin’s, who, in retrospect, was pretty cute. If I wasn’t at that ‘boys-are-grooosss‘ phase I might have liked him. Oh well.

Marcella and Justin hated each other; which sucked because had it ever occurred to me to like Justin, he’d never have wanted to hang out with us. Our love was doomed from the start.

Principal Maher was great. I rarely saw him but he came up with kickass schemes like ‘ Be principal For a Day’. To win, we had to be the best we could for a week. We had to pick up trash, work hard at our assignments, be nice to losers etc. Every time we did something good, we’d get a ticket on which we’d write our name and class, and put it in the ballot outside the office. The more tickets you earn, the more your chances to win. There’d be a lottery on Friday and any two lucky kids from the school would get to be Prinicipal for the day. That meant you got ice-cream, were exempt from schoolwork, and had your picture printed in the paper. Not much, you say? Hey, ask a 3rd grader.

Anyway, here’s how dumb I am. This girl from my class offered me a deal. If I gave her my tickets, she’d buy me a fruit roll up every day for a week. A fruit roll-up. That’s it. I fell for it, and guess what? She won. Considering how Machiavellian she was, I’m pretty sure that was my ticket that got pulled out. To think, I could have been principal had my soul not been so easily corruptible.

I haven’t returned to Pleasanton after we moved to Karachi in 1994. It’s nowhere near Chicago or New York where the rest of my relatives live, so there’s never been a reason to go to California. I keep thinking about the house, and the schoolyard with it’s dry piece of fertilizer like soil, and the public  library which was the closest to Paradise I’ve been in my life and I wish to God that I could have one day to visit all of them again. See how they’ve changed, see if they still look and feel and smell the same. To be honest, I never believed I would get to.

Until now.

How I wish there was some way to tell the people at Google how much I love them.

4031 Page Court

Hello housey baby!

I found out that by double clicking an address on Google Map, you might get a Street View option (only for countries they weren’t afraid to go to- there’s nothing for Pakistan or Iran). Anyway, this saves me the near impossible task of downloading the Google Earth software- a job which nearly cost me my acrylic nails and sanity when I tried around a year ago- as well as gives me a way I can see my…

Donlon Public!

…School. Basically that’s the parking lot and the kiddy playground and the main building, but what is cool is that I actually managed to trace my entire ruote to school, which included passing

Lucky's- or where it used to be, at least

Lucky’s, and….

My best friend and the crush-that-could-have-been

Marcella and Justin’s house. Isn’t it ironic they lived right in front of each other?

Heaven knows where they are now. They probably fell in love with each other in High School and got married at 16, which led to a kid that they’re poisoning slowly on American fast food- ergo, the American dream.

Or they could have gone on to college, become dentists or lawyers, and are on their way to being the decent, respectable people that make the United States the great country it is- ergo, the American dream

In either case, they’ve probably forgotten me.

End of this post.

Love you all, folks! I’m off to walk the streets of Barcelona!

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Comments
13 Responses to “Down Memory Lane”
  1. your post make me miss my past time ,same with your story bro.

  2. H says:

    Oh my God! I am so excited. A day earlier, I spot you on Zamzama with some guy who is not your husband. And today, I find this blog to expose the filthy slut that dwells in the back drop of that “holier than thou” façade. I wonder what excuse you gave to your colleagues for this extended lunch break.
    I don’t know if you told the details to your husband or not. But we will find out. Does he have a blog? Or do I need to look up his phone number?

  3. Phoolan Devi says:

    I don’t know what is more interesting; the post itself or the comment by H?

  4. Minerva says:

    LOLMAO.. seriously, H. Way to spam!

  5. H says:

    Its been more than a week since I posted my last comment but Her Holiness has not yet refuted my claim. Instead she has chosen to hide behind a friend who, it seems, lives in Yemen.
    I have been resisting the temptation to call up her husband and wreck his life. Since his wife is doing a darn good job, I don’t have to trouble myself with it. But Minerva, if you still think this is a spam, then call up her husband and see what he has to say about this. His phone number (which wasn’t very difficult to find) is 03218211……… Her Holiness will tell you the rest. 😉

  6. Minerva says:

    Bibi zaroori hai ke the person she hung out with on Zamzama isn’t a relative? Does it have to be a sleazy interpretation of things?

    Honestly!

  7. Hira Sayem says:

    Hey all!
    Logging in after ages. How time flies.
    No need to defend me M. H really has nothing to piss me or S. off about.
    It’s ok H, S knows everything I do, including my appointments and best-friend-dates and past crushes and my obsession with Saif Ali Khan and what we plan to name our kids. Call him up. I agree I don’t make his life easy (what with my whining and neediness) but he never has to worry about me doing something behind his back. I don’t find your accusation of me a slut as offensive though as your insinuation of my ‘ Holier than thouness’. Where did that come from?
    Anyway, you’re probably someone I know from university or school who I’ve been horrible to, or some guy who I rejected who’s been waiting for his/her chance for revenge. Anyway, come over for dinner and you can talk to S. about his philandering wife’s bitchiness to you in your youth personally if it makes you feel better and helps you out of your ‘bad place’. I make pretty decent lasagne.

    Love ya M!

    Welcome back Phoolan, Queen of the trolls! I’ve missed you!

  8. H says:

    Right. Me falling for an imbecile like you? I know women like you well enough to steer clear off them.

    But now that you have tempted me so much, I think I will drop a call to your husband and let him know what you have been upto. If he knows already, then good for you. If not, then there is going to be something to talk about.

  9. The only one hiding is H and apparently has a much sicker personality than anyone else here. If H has such a clear conscience why dont you poke your poisonous little head out and tell who you are so theres no doubt as to your honesty.

    Why dont you drop a call to me and we’ll have a long talk about people’s personalities asswipe.

  10. Ali Hasan says:

    IT WAS ME!! OMG HIRA I FEEL SO USED HOW COULD YOU INVOLVE ME IN THIS??!!

    PS: Wow dude, Khuari Award of 2010 goes to you. H’s list of achievements:

    1) Give a shit about who Hira goes where with

    2) Form judgements about somebody who’s somebody elses wife, ergo none of your concern

    3) Get to her blog to post AWXUM EXPOSE LOLZ

    4) Wait for a week. Seriously. This was hilarious. I see you logging in everyday and saying “WHAT?!? SHE IGNORES ME?!! WHAT!! I’LL SHOW HER!!” *type type type type* Can I haz rofls?

    5) You find her husband’s number!! What is this! Enemy of the State?! Are you in the ISI? Are you Zardari’s illegitimate child? You even gloated about the mad skills you have hahaha “which wasn’t hard”. Wow dude. Your fingers must be way muscly with all the typing workouts you give them.

    6) Your cliffhanger comment endings! “There will be something to talk about” Bwahahaha what the hell?! Could somebody call Hans-fricking-Zimmer for me? I think we need some heavy-handed orchestral music in here!

    7) And wow. Did you REALLY begin your comment with “omg I’m so excited”? This is like. Glee meets High School Musical meets Coyote Ugly meets that movie with Kirsten Dunst about cheerleaders. Basically high-school themed movies is what I’m getting at.

    Sorry I got you into this Hira. I’ll take you up on your lunch-at-home-away-from-Zardari’s-cloned-DNA-son-made-by-the-ISI-types offers if I’m in the country and there ever is another.

  11. Ali Hasan says:

    Why does my picture always have a monocle? WordPress clearly thinks I’m more distinguished and olde english than I really am.

  12. Minerva says:

    lmao@ Ali Hasan’s comment.

  13. Damn! You were here in karachi when I was just a year old! :O 😐

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